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Page 3 - all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour; The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye Proud, impute to Thefe the fault, If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raife, Where through the long-drawn

Page 372 - 1 have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed : But let me that plunder forbear, She will fay 'twas a barbarous deed. For he ne'er could be true, fhe averr'd, Who could rob a poor bird of its young : And I lov'd her the more, when I heard Such

Page 2 - made, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude Forefathers of the hamlet deep. The breezy call of incenfe-breathing Morn, The fwallow twitt'ring from the

Page 172 - eyes the ftreams of dotage flow, And Swift expires a driv'ler and a fhow. The m teeming mother, anxious for her race, Begs for each birth the fortune of a face : Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty fpring ; And Sedley n curs'd the form that pleas'da king. Ye nymphs of rofy lips and radiant

Page 166 - A frame No dangers fright him, and no labours tire; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquer'd lord of pleafure and of pain ; No joys to him pacific fcepters yield, War founds the trump, he rufhes to the field; Behold furrounding kings their

Page 160 - obfervation with extenfive view, Survey mankind, from China to Peru; Remark each anxious toil, each eager ftrife, And watch the bufy fcenes of crowded life; Then fay how hope and fear, defire and hate, O'erfpread with fnares the clouded maze of fate, Where wav'ring man, betray'd by

Page 12 - Thy milder influence impart, Thy philofophic Tr,ain be there To foften, not to wound my heart, The generous fpark extinct revive, Teach me to love, and to forgive, • » Exact my own defects to fcan, What others are to feel, and know

Page 371 - Not a pine in my grove is there feen, But with tendrils of woodbine is bound: Not a beech's more beautiful green, But a fweet-briar twines it around. Not my fields, in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold : Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fifhes of gold.

Page 3 - Oft did the harvefl to their fickle yield, Their furrow oft the ftubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their fturdy ftroke! Let not Ambition mock their ufeful toil, Their homely joys, and deftiny obfcure; Nor Grandeur hear, with a difdainful fmile, The fhort and fimple annals of the poor. The boaft of heraldry, the pomp of power, And